The Games We Play
by Hazel-Beka
Summary: Some Bad Touch Trio style teasing escalates into a game played between France and Spain to see who can publically humiliate the other more. Sort of France/Spain. Oneshot.


**A/N - This is a fic I wrote for the fic exchange over at hetaliasunshine on LJ. The prompt was for Spain to do something to embarrass France and for France to then realise how much he cared for Spain, so this can be either seen as a pairing fic or a friendship fic - it's rather ambiguous. I do have to admit that this was rather rushed, although I've edited it a bit since I originally posted it at hetaliasunshine, so hopefully it's slightly less fail than it was before. Enjoy~**

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**The Games We Play**

_Round One_

It had started innocently enough.

Prussia and Spain were visiting France, and for a whole week they had been staying in his house, drinking his wine and bastardising his language in what France suspected was some sort of competition between the two to see which one of them could make him wince the most. At the moment, they were neck and neck, and France wasn't sure how much more of Prussia's exaggerated accent or Spain's lisp he could take.

On the last night before his two friends left for their own homes again, France was driven to the point where he gritted his teeth each time the other two spoke. All week he had been trying to ignore it, not wanting to give them the satisfaction of winding him up, but now that they had less than twenty-four hours to make him lose his composure, they had amped up the level of their teasing. As they sat on the balcony, enjoying a glass of wine each, France was starting to seriously consider poisoning them, and judging by the grins of both of their faces, the other two knew exactly what he was thinking.

Honestly, France loved them both dearly and they were his best friends in the world, but they could be annoying like no one else when they put their minds to it.

The last straw came at almost ten o'clock, and France saw it coming about a second before his last thread of patience snapped. That sudden gleam in Spain's eyes and the upwards twitch of his lips gave it away, and then when he spoke, the way he pronounced the letter J...

France stood up abruptly, unable to let his language suffer this abuse any longer.

"All right, that's enough," he groaned, and Spain laughed victoriously. "You win! I surrender."

"Well, at least you're sticking to what you're good at," Prussia quipped. France shot him a look.

"Will you at least speak properly now?" he asked – almost pleaded, really, although he wouldn't admit it – ignoring Prussia's comment. The other two looked as though they were considering it.

"I will if Prussia pays me the twenty euros he owes me," Spain conceded. Prussia grumbled, but handed over the money, not quite daring to provoke France anymore.

France, for his part, was relieved that he didn't need to suffer any longer, but at the same time, he couldn't quite let it go that he had been the subject of a bet between his two friends. That wasn't to say that he wouldn't have participated in something similar, because he would have, but he didn't have any qualms about being a hypocrite so he felt perfectly justified in planning his revenge.

Perhaps if he had let it go, things wouldn't have escalated to the levels they eventually did. Perhaps if he had punished Prussia as well, they would all have considered themselves even.

But he didn't. Instead, he waited for the opportune moment for some payback that only targeted the winner of the bet. And when Spain had relaxed and dropped his guard, thinking that France would just let it go, France struck.

"Speaking of children," he said after Spain had finished gushing about how cute Italy and Romano had been when they were younger, "I suddenly remember a certain incident from _our_ childhood, Spain." There must have been something suspicious about his tone, because Prussia suddenly perked up. Spain remained oblivious, however, and merely cocked his head to the side curiously. "Yes," France continued innocently, "I remember the day you arrived at Rome's house after he conquered you." At this, Spain suddenly realised what France was about to say, because a horrified look appeared on his face.

"What happened?" Prussia urged, grinning manically. France took a slow, deliberate sip of his wine, eyes trained on Spain, who was now pleading him silently with his eyes to stop talking.

"Hmm," France hummed. "On second thoughts, perhaps I shouldn't mention it." The relief in Spain's eyes only served to amuse him, and he continued, "After all, it would be cruel of me to tell you about how cute little Italy jumped out at him and poor Spain was terrified of the 'monster' in his wardrobe for the next three months." Prussia burst out laughing and Spain turned crimson with embarrassment. France savoured the moment. That would teach Spain to respect the language of love!

"You were scared of _Italy_?" Prussia managed to choke out through his laughter. "Oh my God, Spain, you were such a wimpy child!"

"Shut up," Spain mumbled, glaring at France. France smirked, satisfied that his work here was done and that would be the end of it.

How very wrong he was.

_Round Two_

It was two weeks later when France next saw Spain. This time, they were both in London, and, as often happened when England was around, the three of them ended up in a pub, drinking themselves happily into oblivion.

France was merely tipsy when he and England started to argue, and he had completely forgotten about the entire incident with Spain two weeks ago. He was currently teasing England about his cooking, and when that didn't wind England up enough to sufficiently amuse France, the Frenchman widened his range of attack to criticise the entirety of British food culture.

"It is all so plain," France was saying, thickening his accent for good measure; that usually helped to speed up the process of annoying England. "And so 'eavy. I don't think I 'ave ever eaten a single British dish that lives up to the standards of French cuisine. I'm afraid you are a lost cause." He smirked in satisfaction as England looked about to explode, but then Spain suddenly spoke up and the other two turned to him in surprise, having been so wrapped up in their argument that they had almost forgotten he was there.

"You know, France, that's strange," he said thoughtfully, "because I'm _sure_ that the last time I stayed at your house I saw you eating scones." France froze, and Spain let a small, lazy smile slide onto his features.

"Oh really?" England asked, and he sounded viciously gleeful at the information. Spain didn't move his gaze from where it was trained on France's face, but his smile widened.

"Yes, now that I think about it, I definitely remember France eating scones with jam and cream. He said something about how delicious they were and how glad he was that you'd made him try them once." Spain's expression suddenly changed into a parody of thoughtfulness. "Oh, wait, I think he also told me never to tell you that."

France stared at him in disbelief as England crowed victoriously on his other side. Spain looked the picture of innocence, but France knew him too well to buy the act. He didn't connect this terrible betrayal of trust to the incident on the balcony, however, until Spain leant closer to him and said quietly, "Did you really think I'd let you get away with telling Prussia about that time in Rome?" That innocent smile on his face had never looked more sinister, France thought. He hated to admit it, but he was actually impressed with Spain's revenge, somewhere behind his utter horror at the knowledge that England was _never_ going to let him live this down.

Oh, Spain may have thought he had won this game, but France wasn't going to let _this_ go. As America might have said, it was _on_.

_Round Three_

It took France a while before he made his next move. There was no doubt by now that it was a game they were playing, and France knew that Spain was expecting some kind of retaliation. He had noticed how twitchy Spain got when they were together with other nations, and he had seen the way Spain eyed him nervously, waiting for something that wasn't coming. Not yet anyway.

Not until the next meeting of the EU member states, to be precise.

France had had a few second thoughts since he had made his plans, wondering if perhaps humiliating Spain in front of twenty-five other nations instead of just one was taking it too far. Thankfully, though, he had managed to persuade himself that the hilarity would outweigh any possible consequences, and had therefore gone ahead and made the necessary preparations.

So it was ironic, then, that when the nations filed into the meeting room, it was the first time in a long while that France had seen Spain look relaxed in his presence. France had to look away from him before he started laughing and gave the game away.

After three other nations had given talks on various aspects of the economy, it was finally France's turn to take his place at the front of the room and give a presentation on something equally as uninspiring. Throughout the first half of his speech, France somehow managed to remember what he was supposed to be talking about despite being distracted by his plan, clicking his way through the pages in the presentation, which displayed relevant graphs and statistics. At least, that's what it showed until the seventh page, when suddenly a video came up on the screen and began playing automatically.

It was a video of Spain dancing the flamenco, which wouldn't have been so bad apart from the fact that he was also wearing a red, frilly dress and looking far too comfortable with the situation.

As the other nations either stared in shock or started to snigger, France watched the video with a faintly bemused expression, as if he hadn't spent two hours searching for the footage yesterday.

"How strange," he said. "I have no idea how this made its way into my presentation. Although I do have to say that you love absolutely gorgeous dressed like that, Spain, dear." He turned and smiled smugly at Spain, who looked as though he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole. France considered that he had probably never regretted carrying out a drunken dare quite as much as he was regretting this one now.

Behind him, the video finished, and France watched with satisfaction as Spain groaned and let his head fall forwards onto the table as the others laughed at him, enjoying the break from the dullness of finance.

After Germany had managed to regain some sense of order, France carried on as if nothing had happened. Spain didn't lift his head up until after he had finished, and then he did so only so that he could glare as France slid into the seat next to him.

"You are _dead_, France," he muttered as Bulgaria started to talk. "You are so, _so_ dead." France smiled.

"Give it your best shot," he murmured in response.

Looking back on it, challenging Spain at that moment was definitely the stupidest thing he had ever done in his life.

_Round Four_

After his last little stunt, France had expected something of a similar calibre from Spain, and so he was wary during the next few days of EU talks and meetings. They passed without incident, however, and so France checked his calendar to determine what the occasion would be for the next large gathering of nations.

But even though he was confident that Spain would use a similar method of public humiliation, he didn't seriously think that Spain would try anything during a United Nations General Assembly.

Therefore, when the assembly took place, France didn't have any worries at all when Spain got up to give a talk. He didn't have any worries when Spain started talking about globalisation. He even took notes, naively believing that he was safe and that Spain wouldn't have the nerve to embarrass him in front of the entire world.

"-some of the best examples of these franchises are fast food chains," Spain was saying, and suddenly France was sure that Spain was looking directly at him. He couldn't be sure, however, because suddenly a picture appeared on Spain's presentation.

It was a photograph of France eating a burger at McDonalds.

At that moment, France could have sworn that his heart stopped beating and the blood in his veins turned to ice.

Somewhere beyond the laughter and loud unflattering comments from the other nations, Spain was still speaking and managing to sound professional, as if he wasn't being the worst best friend in the entire world right now.

"This particular restaurant chain originated in America, but, as you can see, it is also enjoying great success in Europe, not to mention many other parts of the world," he said, and France was too shell-shocked to even want to wring his neck. He remembered when that photo had been taken. He and Spain had gone out drinking one night a few years ago, and when they had finally left the bar, it had been late and they had been hungry and even more inebriated than was usual for their nights out. As a result, France hadn't made a fuss when they had stumbled into the first place they could find that was open and sold food. It had been a one-time thing, but he had still been deeply ashamed when he had woken up the next morning and remembered what he had eaten the night before.

But not as ashamed as felt now that the whole world thought he harboured a secret love for McDonalds and the disgusting, greasy rubbish it served and tried to pass off as food.

"Hey, France," America called gleefully from somewhere to his left. "The secret is out! You thought you had us fooled by pretending to hate burgers, but now everyone knows the truth: _your taste in food is just the same as mine_!"

It was safe to say that France had never been so mortified in his entire life.

_Game Over_

"I can't believe you did that to me!"

Spain grinned, and France shook his head in disbelief. It was several hours after the most embarrassing moment of his life but he still hadn't managed to come to terms with the fact that Spain had single-handedly destroyed his reputation forever. France was torn between wanting to die and simply staring at Spain in sheer awe. He hadn't realised that the Iberian nation had it in him to be so evil.

"You started it," Spain said. They had been in his hotel room since the meeting had adjourned as France was too ashamed to face any of the others right now. "I just ended it." He shrugged casually, but then suddenly looked slightly worried. "I _have_ ended it, haven't I?" France nodded, and Spain looked relieved.

"I don't think I could do anything to outdo you after that," France admitted. "I have to say that I never saw it coming. I didn't even realise you _had_ such an incriminating photo of me." Spain smirked suddenly.

"Oh, I have a few," he said. "And don't think I'll ever hesitate to use them if I need to." France didn't doubt that he would. He had a vague feeling that if anybody else had humiliated him in front of the world and then carried on threatening him afterwards, he would have hit them, but...well. It was _Spain_.

"Why can I never get angry with you?" he sighed. "You'd deserve it if I was," he added, shooting Spain a reproachful look. "You may cover it up very well, but you have a sadistic streak in you."

"It was your fault," Spain replied immediately, almost childishly. "If you hadn't told Prussia about that time-"

"Ah, but I only did that because you had been relentlessly torturing me for a whole week," France cut him off. "So I think you'll find that _you_ started this, dear."

"That was Prussia's idea," Spain insisted.

"But you went along with it," France reminded him.

"Even so," Spain said, "you can't blame me entirely. This was _our_ fault. We played the game _together_. Besides," he added, "it was fun."

France cocked his head to the side and found that he had to agree. He was sure that he would be less forgiving later when the other nations finally found him and mocked him like he'd never been mocked before, but for now he found that the whole situation was only endearing Spain to him even more. It didn't make sense, but then again, France had always harboured a fondness for Spain that nobody else could ever hope to equal.

Sighing, France gave up trying to fight and instead wound an arm around Spain's waist, leaning closer to kiss him lightly on the cheek.

"There must be something very special about you for me to let you get away with this," he said. "You're just far too precious for me to hold it against you." Spain beamed a sunshine smile and tilted his head forwards, rubbing their noses together in an eskimo kiss. It was almost unbearably cute, France thought, and it sent a rush of warmth through his body.

"I love you too," Spain said teasingly, and winked. Just as France was trying to decide which method of molestation would be appropriate for returning the sentiments, there was a loud knock at the door.

"Hey, guys!" came Prussia's voice from the other side. "I know you're both in there! West told me all about what happened at the meeting today. Hey, Spain, let me in so I can be the first one to make fun of France! Pleeease."

France didn't bother to hide his disappointment as Spain moved away from him, but the other nation only laughed at his expression.

"Should I let him in?" he asked, ignoring Prussia's wheedling. France opened his mouth to say no, but then paused as a thought struck him. Spain watched with interest as a slow, devious smile spread across his lips.

"You know," France said, "although I can't bring myself to punish you for being such a naughty boy, I think somebody needs to pay for what you did to me today." Spain glanced towards the door as he followed France's train of thought, and then he grinned widely as he caught on.

"Well, like I said, it was really Prussia's fault that we were driven to embarrass each other like that," he said casually. He paused, and then asked again, "Shall I let him in?" France nodded, and they shared a small smile. It was a smile that would have sent anyone that saw it running for their life, or at least for their dignity. But Prussia was on the other side of the door, knocking and ordering them to open up and let him in. And, well, who were they to ignore the wishes of their friend?

Spain stood up and went to let Prussia in.

"It's about time," Prussia whined, annoyed at being left in the hallway for so long. "What took you?"

"Oh nothing," Spain said absently as Prussia passed him, heading towards where France sat on the bed. "In fact, it's funny you showed up now. We were just talking about you..."

He closed the door with an ominous click and smiled.

_New Game initiated_

_Round One, begin!_


End file.
